Finding Grace
by darkravine
Summary: Post Grave - 2 years later. Spike never came back from Africa, but the dreams won't let him stay away forever. Buffy and Spike in the aftermath ... Eventually S/B


Title: Finding Grace

Author: darkravine

Rating: MATURE, just to be on the safe side.

Summary: Post Grave. Two years later. Spike never returned from Africa. I'll write a more in depth summary as the story progresses.

Feedback: Always.

**Prologue**

She used to think it was about the sex.

The way he knew her body, better than anyone, herself included. Touching places, outside and inside of her, that she hadn't even known existed. Bringing her world-weary body that final burst of release, over and over. Effortlessly. And so different each time. God, every time was like the first. He'd take her hard and fast, her face pressed painfully into the cold stone wall of his crypt as he slammed into her from behind, and she remembers thinking that this should hurt, she should feel violated. Used. Unclean. But how could she when his hands were running all over her body, everywhere at once, worshipping and soft and just. Fucking. Amazing. And she'd feel herself falling, just like that.

And there were the rare times she let him take her slow, his mouth trailing over her body like silk, smooth and feather-soft. Until he closed it over that aching bud of nerves and then it was … ohhh. Firm and demanding tongue - pushing, pulling, sucking, _biting_ …

She could never get enough of his mouth.

She thinks about these things from time to time. Sometimes when she's on the brink, screaming another man's name in complete ecstasy, the bulk of her newest counterpart buried to the hilt, inside of her, filling her. She wonders what the hell is wrong with her, that she should think of _him_ at a time like this, when her world is falling away from her in that delicious, _desperate_ way.

When it's another man bringing her that release. That release that she had once assumed that only he was capable of giving.

She knows better now.

Sometimes, Dawn asks her about sex. How it's supposed to feel, how long it's supposed to last, if it hurts. And she's no fool. She knows why Dawn is asking. But she made a promise, to herself and Dawn, that she wouldn't shelter Dawn from that big scary world again. So she just smiles, tells her that sex is one of the most amazing things in this world, if it's with someone you love. And Dawn would stare at her blankly, waiting for the pearls of wisdom, something that didn't come straight from the script of an after-school special. But she just ducks her head, and smiles a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes.

She's not ready to tell Dawn _everything_, after all.

* * *

><p>He's surprised that it can all happen so easily.<p>

After everything, years of needing, wanting, breathing (figuratively speaking, of course) one woman and one woman only, after changing so completely, altering his very nature to be good enough for her, he wonders how he can resolve himself to never see her again. It doesn't make sense to his addled mind, but his newly acquired conscious seems to adamantly demand this of him. And so, with heavy heart in hand, he trudges through the Americas aimlessly, gazing at the beauty of the States through the twilight hours as he hates himself. Hates. Himself. For ever thinking that he would be good enough, ever thinking that she would look at him again.

For ever touching her to begin with.

Even now, he wants to cut off the hand that dared to shove her down, yank the robe off her shoulder …

Even now, he can't think of it.

He wants to show her that he can be good, that the soul is not for naught. He supposes that's what brought him to that hotel room with the pretty young brunette who chewed too much gum that first night. He wants to show her he can be gentle, and restrained. And human. A man. Not a monster. So he takes her in his arms and shows her.

Only, it's not her. It's never her. And she doesn't care.

And neither does the brunette, apparently. She's gone in a flurry of hairspray and pink bubble gum before the sun has even peaked over the horizon, her number hastily written on a matchbox cover that she shoves in his hand last minute.

So it goes like that for awhile. New town. New woman. Screaming whatever name he happens to be going by that day, rolling with him for a few hours before they see something in him, something a little broken, and they decide that it would be better that they left.

Until he rolls into a small town in Montana. For awhile, he thinks that the redhead lying next to him is going to get up, leave him to his crappy hotel room and his crappy excuse for a life.

But she doesn't move. Just stares at him as he smokes quietly, smiling softly. Is she blind? Does she not see that there's something wrong with him?

Maybe she does, maybe she doesn't. She never says. Just grasps his hand in hers and squeezes it a little. And he turns to her, sees her for the first time. Catches the hint of sadness in the depths of her blue eyes, and realizes that maybe she's just as lost as he is. She asks if she can go with him. And he says yes.

Because she asks. And he can show her how good he can be.

Tbc …


End file.
